Drabbles d'HulkWidow
by Hiddlesybatched
Summary: Short drabbles celebrating the wonder of the geek and the spy. May lengthen over time. No higher rating than T :)
1. Chapter 1

Okay I got hit with Hulkwidow/Brutasha feels and so many unconnected clips came from my brain I have to out them down. I'm still writing my other fits, they're just... A little uncooperative right now.

These are all going to be short, unconnected and hopefully just the right amount of feels. Also no higher rating than T.

* * *

She stares at the wall in front of her, unseeing, unfeeling (but she'll never admit it). Goes through the motions talking to Cap, putting on a show (and it's a good show, the spy left in her crows) for the benefit of those left.

Not that they'd notice, anyway.

The only one who ever noticed, truly noticed her, is gone.

She stamps down the heady mix of fear, anger, hurt and adoration (yes, adoration, for she knows, at heart, he's done this to protect her) that threatens to draw moisture to her eyes and weakness to her resolve.

She will find him.

He will come home.


	2. Such Bitter Comfort

Hey, friends! Thank you to all of you who'very followed/faved/reviewed, its really made my day! I hope this doesn't disappoint.

* * *

She has no idea what she'll do when she finds him. Punch him, probably.

She trusts that he won't hurt her. But after what she did...She doesn't know if the Big Guy likes her anymore.

Oh, Stark's full of bull like "he's gone so he won't hurt you", "the mindless beast clearly isn't that mindless, he's trying to protect you from himself."

It doesn't help. He needs them, and the Bug Guy has taken him off to god knows where in stealth mode. She almost wishes she hadn't pushed him - not the literal pushing, but emotionally. Has she lost their trust? Or is Stark... right, for once? Are their minds linked in this need to protect her from the Big Guy?

She huffs and rolls over on her bed, curling into a ball, knife in one hand under the pillow, the other hugging her knees in a way all too reminiscent of Bruce. It's the little things like that she has found herself loving him for; the way he hugs himself when he's uncomfortable, as though he needs comfort but doesn't deserve it from anyone. The way he smiles at her with just a touch of reverence, as though she's the most beautiful thing this earth has ever created. The way he thinks himself a monster and hides from the fights out of a desire to stop the inevitable rubble making if he gets involved. She wishes for him to realise that of the two of them, she's the monster the Russian mothers tell their kids to watch out for at night, threaten them with when they're naughty.

She wishes, not for the first time, for his arms protectively around her as she falls into a restless sleep, imagining her head is on his shoulder.


	3. Awkwamazing First Date

This is a little longer, and more like a mini story set after they find him etcera (they WILL DAMNIT) cause I thought if I have myself a challenge of a kind of alphabet prompt thing then I will have plenty of inspiration. And I love the idea of them being super domestic. Anyways... I hope this pleases you.

* * *

"Natasha?

She could cut the tension in the room with her little toe if she so wished, he was so highly strung.

"Yeah, Bruce? What's up?" She asked, a small smile upturning one corner of her mouth

"I, uh, there's a movie showing on Sunday that I think you'd maybe like to see," he says, face turned slightly away from hers, "b-but if you don't want to, it's no problem, no problem at all, in fact forget I said anything-

She laughs quietly, placing her finger across his lips to effectively silence his ramblings.

"A movie sounds great. It'll sound even better when the next thing you say is that you're coming with me."

With his breath caught in his throat, it takes him a few moments to reply.

"Yes, of course I will accompany you, if that's what you want, if you're sure that's what you want."

His unsurety is almost too much for her to bear, when she can see the beautiful man he is underneath the raging monster the media focuses on.

"'Course I'm sure. When have I lied to you? Calcutta doesn't count," she says with a smile in her voice.

His answering smile is all it takes to allow a full, honest and unguarded smile to spread across her features and she almost (almost) gives into the urge to kiss him again. Almost.

* * *

"So."

Her quiet footsteps had gone unnoticed by the science brothers (as the rest of the team liked to nickname them) and the sound of Tony's cussing and Bruce's startled intake of breath were music to her ears.

"What? I'm a spy. Sneaking up on people is like a hobby. Gotta keep these skills," she jabs playfully at Tony, "sharp. Anyway. You can leave now and avoid possible mortification on all our parts, or you can stay and ruin this moment between us," she says, giving Tony her best faux-murderous glare.

He pretends to mull it over for a few seconds.

"Nah, think I'll stick around for this little party. Can't miss all the drama!" He pauses, fishing a small packet of pretzels out of his pocket, popping one into his mouth with an obnoxious crunch. "Anyone want one?"

"No, thanks, Tony. Tasha, should we..." He gestures to a corner of the lab hopefully.

"Yeah, I wouldn't go there, guys. New kind of surveillance. I like to think it'll be incredibly helpful on covert operations, among other equally useful but much less fun pursuits, but, you know, that could be inventors bias."

"What kind?"

"Thermodynamics and how pheromones affect core body temps. Seeing how Obi Wan Can-Angry here is already glowing like a Christmas tree in Harlem, I'd guess you don't want us too see your, ah, reactions. So spill."

Nat turns her attention firmly back to the shy man in front of her.

"So, what are you taking me to see on our date, huh?"

Tony chokes on his latest pretzel, spewing little chunks that hit the side of her face and make her want to snarl at him. (She doesn't.) "What do you mean, date?! You guys don't date. Period."

Nat ignores his existence, eyes scanning Bruce's features with a small smile playing around one corner of her mouth.

"My curiosity is killing me. I know you blocked all access to cinema screenings, Stark, so you're in on this somehow," she cuts her eyes at him, suspicious of his surprise.

"Hold up, I'm still in shock over you two having a sex life. You do have sex lives, right? How long has this been going on- why am I always the last person to know?"

Bruce, surprisingly, interrupts. "Ah, actually, that was me. I've seen Tony do it enough times..."  
She raises an eyebrow, mildly surprised and strangely proud of him.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, just give me a moment? Stark. If I wanted to hear you complaining about how you're always left out of the loop, I'd have lent you a copy of the recording of my latest covert operation. As it is, I kinda want to hear what my dork is taking me to see tomorrow," she says, fixated on the pleasured flush that sweeps up Bruce's neck at her possessive use of 'dork'.

(She will probably never tell him, but she loves that she can make him blush.)

* * *

As it turns out, she doesn't find out until they settle into their seats in the private theatre, 3D glasses perched precariously on her nose whilst Bruce struggles to clip his on due to the virtually nonexistent lighting.

She turns in her seat to face him, reaching out a hand to turn his face towards hers with the gentlest of pressure to his jaw. "Bruce," she says, "let me. You've got them all..." She pauses and concentrates on straightening the glasses, so close their breaths mingle and she hears the catch in his breathing as he registers her proximity, " wonky. There, all done..."

She can almost feel his confusion. Confusion, want,fear, stretching his nerves so tight she fears he will break away from her, from all of them, if she pushes too hard.

The sound of crashing, loud, obnoxious laughter, and the unmistakable sound of righteousness itself interrupts them.

"Oh, hey guys. Fancy seeing you two here, in an empty movie theatre. It's almost," here Stark pauses, just about able to discern Nat's 'I'm gonna make your death painful, slow, and brutal- and it's gonna look like an accident' stare through the gloom, "uh, it's almost too cosy in here, is what I meant. Super cosy. Real cosy. Is anyone else a little hot in here?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know they were going to come. We can go, Natasha, if you want..."

Bruce looks hopeful and defeated all at once, and it makes her heart, that which once seemed impossibly locked far from anyone's reach, grow that little bit bigger, as she understands his anguish. He wanted this to be about them. He fears they've ruined it all.

He doesn't want to miss this, their second window.

"Nah, let 'em join us. We've got the rest of the evening, anyway," she says, grasping his hand in hers on the armrest. (Tony catcalls them both, and Bruce goes visibly red even within the darkness of the theatre.)

About ten minutes into the movie, he leans over, mouth impossibly close to her ear without so much as brushing the sensitive skin there.

"Thank you," he whispers, and raises their conjoined hands to press an ever so gentle kiss to the back of her hand.

As far as first dates go, Natasha Romanoff is more than happy to say it's the best she's ever had (not just because the movie had been a new British spy drama with an excellent cast), unfortunate gate-crashers notwithstanding.

* * *

Yay for happy spies! Next chapter is called Bed Days.


	4. Bed Days

BED DAYS - Disclaimer - I own nothing, except the idea, and even that's not particularly original.

Thank you to all of you for being terribly patient, whilst I attempt to get my life back together, and special thanks indeed to everyone who has followed, favourited and (my personal favourite), reviewed. You have no idea how much it means.

Enjoy!

* * *

Their days off are their favourite. It's rare they have a whole day uninterrupted to themselves, so when they do, they curl into each other in Natasha's bed, just savouring each others' presence and the safety they feel within the others embrace. They have a stash of imperishable food under her bed and her en suite (that Stark had insisted upon, as he didn't want his bathroom time "taken up by damned woman spies disguising themselves, when they have no concept of proper beard maintenance") serves them both perfectly. On these days they only see each other, thanks to Natasha throwing a knife at Cap's head when he poked his head through her door after a mission, unfortunately after having repeatedly told everyone (Stark) to just LEAVE THEM ALONE, one too many times.

She'd apologised the next day, of course.

He'd laughed it off, but his eyes had shown he understood, and was apologetic for interrupting.

Some days they just explore each other, mapping out scars and stories and cataloguing them into their knowledge of each other.

Other days, they catch up on The Mentalist and watch cat videos on YouTube, her head resting on his chest and his arm on her waist, and on these days the rest of the team can hear her genuinely laugh through the walls, and they're happy for her. For them.

(She hates her laugh, but Bruce loves it, 'cause its not practised and perfect like everything else she is, but a giggle that bubbles out of her chest and up her throat before exploding out of her in a snort-hiccough-giggle hybrid, and it makes him feel so privileged to hear and be the cause of that he just wants to envelop this beautiful, dangerous woman into his chest and never let her go.)

He's always careful with her, as though she's the one who's going to explode into some rampaging creature, but he knows she doesn't mind being treated carefully (he prefers 'reverently' but she got so damned upset at the thought of him revering her, like she's not the best damned thing that's ever happened to him, that he couldn't stand to cause her such discomfort over a word,) on these rare days off, when she doesn't have to be The Black Widow but can be Natasha, lover of Taylor Swift and cat videos and who is incredibly ticklish, especially just behind her left knee.

These are the days where she doesn't push herself to the limit training, is happy letting Bruce play nursemaid to her various cuts and bruises and pushes aside his worries that she's going to get hurt, but she always promises him, inside, that if nothing else she will always try her damnedest to come back to him in one piece. These are the days where she sings along to 22 with shameless abandon in the shower, before belting out The Beegees and Beyonce like any other young woman and it's on these days that Bruce is reminded so forcefully of how they met and how he accused her of training that little girl to be a spy and how she had just cut him to the core with those two little words.

_"I did."_

It shakes him to remember that she is little more than a child forced to grow up long before her time, so encourages her more childish behaviour; he has no qualms about tearing Tony's couches apart that one day they had the whole tower to themselves, just to build a couch fort before eating icecream and marshmallows until he's certain he's going to explode_ but it's worth it._

It's these bed days that make what they do worth it, far more than the satisfaction of saving the world - the only world Bruce needs to save is his and Natasha's to be truly happy.

* * *

Yay for bed days! The next one is called Crying!

There's going to be a bit of a lot of angst. Just a little warning. ^.^


	5. Crying

For such a caring person, Bruce doesn't cry that often. The thought of having hurt people may freeze him, send him into a cold sweat and make that familiar ache of regret rise in his chest, but it rarely draws him to tears. (The plight of animals, however, sends him bawling- especially domestic animals. They're supposed to be companions, dammit!)

However, the first time he sees Natasha broken, scared, and all because of him- it breaks him out of his rage quicker than a bullet ends a life. Even as the Other Guy struggles for dominance, he fights harder than he ever has before for control, for her.

As the haze fades and he's left shaking in the rubble covered in grime and substances he doesn't want to think about, his only thought is of getting to her. He doesn't realise he's crying until he reaches her and a drop lands on her cheek and cuts a white track through the muck on her face.

Guilt crashes through him with as much force as a hurricane whipped up by Thor in his worst temper and he falls to the ground at her feet, burying his head in her lap; hoping she won't push him away whilst praying to the god he's not sure he believes in that he hasn't hurt her too badly. Part of him is sure this is it, she's going to finally realise he's too dangerous, too much of a risk to spend her life with. The other half screams its denial, making him want to scoop her into his arms and keep her there forever, and say hell to the consequences. He barely registers her fingers running through his hair, or her hand lightly cupping his jaw, until her lips descend upon his forehead, butterfly soft and such balm to his aching soul that the tears run freely and he can't control his sobbing when he realises that she's crying too.

It's the first time he's seen her cry and it hits him again that it's his fault, that he's a monster for hurting the woman he ... This strong and unbreakable woman. But his resolve is too weak to tear himself away from the shelter of her arms, the safety only she can give to him, even as his mind is screaming at him to let her go.

"If you even think... of leaving me... again... over this... I will hunt you... down... and tie you... up in my room... and make you... watch... Hatchi... on repeat... for a month. Okay?" She says to him, pausing every few words from the pain. His worry must show in the set of his jaw and shoulders, because she smooths her hand across his forehead and shuffles a bit before reassuring him, "It's just... a few ribs... and maybe my ankle... and it wasn't from... you, Bruce, or... the Big Guy. Blame it... on... those Hydra idiots... that thought... pissing you off...was a good idea... it... wasn't you... Promise."

It doesn't help, or maybe it does, as he almost smiles at her and moves to wipe the tears from her eyes, acutely self conscious of the snot that was no doubt smeared across his face.

It's then he feels (not for the first time) that running with her is possibly the best thing he's ever done, and he wants so badly to tell her the depth of his feelings that it scares him to hell and back that those four little words are constantly on the tip of his tongue, so he stays silent, sharing a look with her that he hopes conveys everything he's too scared to tell her.

* * *

AAAAAH IM SO SORRY ITS TAKEN SO LONG TO GET TO YOU (I've had it written since before I posted the first alphabet chap) BUT LIFE GOT FROMPLICATED AGAIN and yeah I am sorry, especially for those of you who have been kind enough to leave reviews. ILY.


	6. Dancing

Guys, you know I love you all, right? Especially you, R. 2015, Black' Victor Cachat, NeverMessWithTeddyBears, XxthesarcasticonexX, untapdtreasure, Sigyn Holmes Laufeyson, Sylvie (Guest) and every guest whom I haven't gotten around to thanking for your kind words and follows. This is short, but I have 3 for "e" ready and rearing to go.

* * *

He discovers her favourite song quite by accident, when they stumble into Steve's room during one of his catch-up-on-modern-music sessions. Instead of backing out like the hounds of hell are on her heels, Nat stops, relaxes, and leans against him gently, a soft expression settling across her features. To his credit, Steve doesn't even look up from Lord of the Flies, so misses her looking so exposed and vulnerable.

Once the song ends, he wraps an arm around her and draws her to her room, mulling over the song choice.

XxX

A few weeks later, as they're cuddled on the large purple sofa in Bruce's room, he catches her looking as close to wistful as Natasha ever does, and decides to throw caution to the wind.

"So... Hepburn or Melua?"

She turns, head tilted to one side and her lips slightly parted, a question in her eyes.

"What?" She asks, fingers playing idly with a curl (she's had to grow it out for a mission and he loves it, how it curls past her shoulders and hides her rare blushes from everyone but himself), "Hepburn, obviously. Why do you ask?"

He smiles at her, reaching for his music player and selecting the song to play. He's lucky he has the version she loves, and thanks the god he's a little closer to believing in for his good fortune.

As the first bars of Hepburn's Moon River play, he takes her in his arms and coaxes her off the sofa to move with him. As he had expected, her natural fluidity borne of constant movement makes her an excellent dancer as he leads her in a waltz, though he's sure at some point she was given given dancing lessons as her "training", to help her cover in any number of missions. The thought makes him want to hunt down everyone even vaguely connected to those responsible for making her what she is; that thought alone terrifies him and makes his hand involuntarily clench on her waist.

"Hey. It's okay, the dancing lessons were always my favourite." Her eyes are focused on his face, as though he is the only person on the planet to her and he thinks he knows how she feels, because she has become the reason he gets out of bed some mornings, but he can't understand why she has chosen him out of all the people infinitely more worthy of her affection.

"Bruce, please, less thinking, more dancing please. How did you know this was my favourite? Steve?"

He mentally shakes himself and accepts the branch she has given him, turning his attention purely to twirling her around the room. "He didn't tell me, no. I guess you did."

She smiles and shakes her head at him before resting it against his shoulder.

Typically, her pager goes off halfway through the fourth repeat of the song, and she flashes him a rueful look as she pulls out of his embrace. She leans up to kiss his cheek, whispering an emphatic 'thank you' before checking her weapons are in place and darting out of the room. (He will never get used to seeing just how many weapons she can successfully hide on her tiny frame.)

* * *

WHoop whoop. Yay for dancing! The three "E"'s are... Egg, Enthusiasm, and Eyes. All are varying degrees of angsty.


	7. E, part i: Enthusiasm

Here we go! Enthusiasm. Something I think she sometimes lacks, when it comes to her personal happiness, and I think Bruce really helps in that area. Thank you everyone for sticking by these!

* * *

It leaks from his pores, she thinks, when he's passionate about something. And he is passionate about a lot of things, she has discovered. Like the molecular composition of tiny sea creatures she can never remember the names of, but he knows the colloquial and Latin names as well as their composition and their eras. And when he's so adorably dorky, she can't help but kiss him, lest that enthusiasm dissipates like the early morning mist on the lake near their log cabin.

(She'd pulled a few strings after the Ultron incident, on both the US and Russian sides, to ensure her haven was as protected as possible. But with the Hulk in near constant residence- but only when she is there- she honestly thinks she may have over reacted.)

His enthusiasm for life spreads through her no matter how much pain she is in and never fails to lift her spirits and draw her mind away from the murky shadows that linger still. It makes her want to view life as he so desperately does, that life is worth protecting, that nothing is worth civilian casualties, but it's so damned hard when the only life she sees as worth saving is his.

He helps her muster up enough enthusiasm to get through the dark days of helping Steve track The Winter Soldier, when more of her past is revealed to them all and she feels less than human again. He helps her through the hurt and turmoil of half buried memories dragged fresh out into the open, gaping wide for the team to see - not that they saw much. He'd crouched between her and Tony's inquisitive gaze, Steve's limitless curiosity and Wanda's sympathetic frown.

His enthusiasm for life makes her remember why she stayed once he came back to her, as she had been _so close_ to taking him and running.

Hence the log cabin. It had been merely the best of a bad situation- Tony's snark could only be handled for so long before she snapped.

She loves that he makes her feel human again. It makes her want to make him feel human and worthy, and he is, Thor's hammer be damned. So she tries to match his enthusiasm whenever she can, and sometimes she thinks she might just be managing it. When she shows him her preferred de-stress exercises, or brings him an article about Hulk that's not cruel or barbed, or she starts a rousing argument about some trivial thing that leaves them giggling like children in the aftermath (and the rest of the Avengers have evacuated the building fearful for their lives)

Sometimes, she thinks, it's like they can be a normal couple.


	8. E part ii- Eyes

So uhm I changed my mind slightly about the other chapter for E, so have this one instead! Yay! Okay I'm really, really excited about the two chapters after the next one, G &amp; H. They're AU and I don't know why, I just think it fits. Anyhoo, have this, my lovelies. As usual, I own nada.

* * *

Until she met Bruce, Nat had never believed half of the lovesick crap toted by media as gospel. She believed that life was what you made of it.  
But there was one saying which she HAD taken to heart- or, at least, she'd used it to her advantage; 'The eyes are the window to the soul.'

She did not believe that literally for a second, but the eyes did give away clues about the subjects' thoughts, clues that were understandably useful in her line of work.

With Bruce, studying his eyes had started as a life saving exercise. Bruce has such beautiful, warm, soft brown eyes. Hulk has vibrant green. The change always began with a tightening of his muscles - all of them - so she'd notice his eyes hardening, the corners pinching as though he had a headache of earth-shattering proportions. Then the green would leech into the brown, making them hazel, then dark green, and then toxic green, before the rest of him changed too.

She'd used this knowledge to evacuate buildings, even cities, before they'd learnt the Lullabye. It had been slow progress, and had been hard for her to get over her instinctive fear of Hulk - not Bruce, never Bruce - but they'd worked at it. She'd see the warning signs and catch him with a smiling joke, a warm touch on a hand strung as tightly as a violin, a whispered suggestion that they get out of the situation, 'cause her heels are killing her anyway and besides they've missed three episodes of Castle they could go catch up on.

The others, they had no idea how she could spot the signs so well, or how she could head off his rages so completely. She doesn't know herself some days.

But she knows it infuriates her when his friends, Stark and Cap don't notice that their "friendly banter" is edging into territory too raw for him to handle, or that their callous disregard for life, even if it is the enemy, makes him sick to his stomach when they regale him with Hulk's doings on the latest mission. They don't notice his sadness and self loathing, so she has to.

It's a job she willingly and happily undertakes, as she genuinely adores almost everything about him, as he's the exact opposite of her. It's just her good luck that he seems to adore her back.

It does make her squirm inside a little when she catches him looking at her. She likes it more when he realises she's realised but maintains the eye contact. It makes her think that something could happen between them, something she's never even considered after Shostakov.

She'd once made a (terrible) joke that when he's mad his eyes change from his to hers, and he becomes what she is; a merciless killing machine.  
(He had taken four deep breaths, looked deep into her green eyes and seeing the sadness there, grasped her holders and pulled her to him, murmuring "don't you ever say anything like that to me again, Natasha. You're wrong.")

The feeling Bruce gives her in abundance is hope, and if that goes she doesn't know how she'll ever go back to what she was before. 


	9. Fish, or Lacktherof

Next chapter is called Group Date, another little-y but a long one is in the works :) Anyway, Short but Sweet! (Also, XxthesarcasticonexX, I'm so glad you liked that line, I must admit Castle is one of my biggest weaknesses!)

* * *

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yeeeees!"

"Natasha, we are not going on a date to a fish bar."

He ignores her pout as she leans towards him.

"Why? It'll be new and fun!"

"Yeah, and gross. Not to mention way too expensive for what it is."

He steels himself against her raised eyebrow and avoids eye contact as far as she allows as she inches closer to his face.

"You don't like fish? What about sushi? It's really good for you and not all sushi bars only have fish."

"Uh, no, I don't like fish at all. No matter how good it is for me."

"Fine. Nando's?"

"Deal."

XxX

Three weeks later, the entire tower is rudely awoken at three forty eight am by the shrieks of Bruce turning over to nuzzle into Nat's neck and finding Nat's head covered in a very realistic trout mask, complete with fishy smell and real water.  
She couldn't look at him without laughing for a week.


	10. Group Date and Realisation

Hey guys! Long time, no see. I've decided to postpone the chapter I was going to post here so have some fairly fluffy goodness before I post it. As always, thank you for your kind words, favourites, and follows xx

* * *

Nat stroked the leg twitching beside her beneath the table, watching the owner relax slightly at her touch. Around them, three couples laughed and talked and thought they were oh, so clever, setting up this date.

"So, Cap, how long have you known Beth?" Nat asked from across the table.

"Uh, about three months now, Nat."

"You're a cute couple," said Bruce from beside her.

"Thanks, Bruce. I would say the same of you and Nat but... You guys aren't a couple."

The rest of the table fell silent for a moment, watching their reactions and looked away in disappointment when they showed none. Beneath the table, Bruce's hand covered hers here it lay on his thigh, and squeezed lightly. Only Tony looked at them knowingly, having walked in on them kissing in the lab one day a few weeks past.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around them, and then suddenly they were dancing, music flowing around them elegantly and Nat was swirling in some man's arms as weightless and dreamy as a cloud - until suddenly she wasn't. A different pair of arms encircled her waist, the muscle roiling and twisting beneath the thin skin and she knew that if she dared risk a look she'd find green in those beautiful hazel eyes of his and a snarl curling his lips.

"Back. Off." He hissed to the unknown man, who immediately turned remorseful and backed away quickly, fleeing the room. Nat turned in his arms and laid her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms snuggly around his waist and holding him close as she felt the tension that had been building inside him, making him so very close to shattering both himself and everything around him, leeching out of him and he rested his head on the top of hers, apologising into her hair.

"It's alright, Bruce."

"It's not. You're allowed to dance with whomever you wish, Natasha, and I ruined that."

"How? I wanted it to be you. I also thought you didn't want everyone else to know so I didn't invite you out with me..."

She trailed off, reaching up on her tiptoes to pull his head down to her height and pressed his lips firmly to hers, unmindful of the stares from their friends.

Several weeks later, surrounded by friends in a small diner not far from Tony's latest structural accomplishment, Steve realised that of all them, only Tony had been unsurprised by the revelation.


	11. Hogwarts!

So here is the story I was telling you guys all about. Well, here's the start of it. I'm going to be uploading it separately to these, but some of the later drabbles will still be in the same universe, just not fully connected to this :) Sorry it's taken so long, and there is absolutely no Hulkwidow in this starter chapter, it's all Nat.

* * *

Natalia Romanova was ten years, eleven months and twenty three days old when she was confirmed a witch.

She'd worked it out for herself when she had been six years, two months and eight days old, after she turned her Mistress' hair into a spider's web, complete with nesting Black Widow spider. (She'd read about them once, on one of the few times she'd been allowed to read for pleasure, and had been fascinated ever since.)

She'd suffered for it after, of course, the training getting harder every day, but the knowledge that she was different, that she was special beyond her small minded Mistress' belief, buoyed her up through the years.

She realised she could change her appearance at the age of seven years and three days old, when she objected to her Mistress shaving her hair clean off, so grew it back. Her Mistress had looked like she would hit her, so she had ran as far and as fast as she could, wishing fervently that her hair wasn't as vibrantly red, or her eyes so uniquely green, or that she was so very, very tiny.

Her Mistress had given up after twelve hours, where Natalia had stood right in front of her Mistress yet had not been recognised.

Natalia received three letters, that day in mid-November, one from each of the closest three prestigious Wizarding Academies; Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts. Each told her that their school would best suit her considerable talents.

Her Mistress instructed young Natalia to choose the school with the darkest reputation, Durmstrang, to further her loyalty to the Motherland. That it was close by, and she had connections on the inside of the school (Natalia discovered her Mistress and the Headmaster of Durmstrang in a very compromising situation one night, whilst she had been practising disillusionment charms in her fifth year) was simply an added bonus.

But Natalia had no passion for the Dark Arts, no thirst for blood, or desire for power in those early days, so she turned down Great Durmstrang's offer.

Her fellow Orphans urged her to choose the school with the sweetest reputation, where the gentile and graceful learned. Where Light was assuredly spilt on the shadows the Dark Arts had thrown, and she could learn to harness her magic in a safe and delicate manner. Her French was exemplary; her poise second to none within the Orphanage, and her grace could rival any ballerina's. France was warm, or so she had read, and the sun would lighten her ruddy hair to a golden hue, so her fellow Orphans whispered to her enviously.

But Natalia had no desire to be tanned, graceful, and full of light. She felt the darkness within her and was comforted by it, knowing it was there. To have it eradicated would, she felt, feel wrong, and she would always be waiting, fearful, for it to return.

So she thanked The Madame, and graciously declined Fair Beaubaton's offer.

Her heart called for her to choose the school with the most mixed reputation, where both Great and Terrible wizards had studied, and she felt that perhaps she could belong.

She researched the Houses of Hogwarts and their characteristics and felt even more strongly that there may be a place for her.

For she was cunning and ambitious, even in those innocent days of turning door handles into mice.

Her mind, too, was brilliant, quick to process new data and just as quick to recall it when needed. She never forgot any wrongdoing to either her or those Orphans closest to her and she plotted every revenge meticulously; yet, she was never caught.

Her young heart yearned for the acceptance of a house, and longed to have pride in something other than not failing her Mistress' latest Test.

So she replied to Headmistress McGonagall, accepting the offer of a home within the Great Walls of Hogwarts, and feeling somewhat at peace with herself for the first time since she had passed a Test and ultimately doomed another Orphan to fail.

* * *

Keep an eye out for the rest of this, which I will be uploading soon, *promise*, if you liked it. If you didn't, it's no problem :) ILY all xx


	12. Kiss

Two in one day, because I'm feeling really, really bad about the last update taking so long. Short and hopefully sweet :)

* * *

Their first kiss isn't conventional, not at all. In the midst of battle, torn between fleeing to build a life for themselves and saving the world, it wasn't a moment born of romance.

Their second (or first proper) kiss is as gently unhurried as their first is hurried and desperate; her hands toy with the lapels of his lab coat as he brings his forehead to rest against hers; their breaths mingle for long moments, their eyes lock and their noses bump and after months of self denial, cautious touches and many (so damned many) almost-kisses that the need has grown into a physical never ending _ache_, finally, finally, their lips meet.

It feels like a thousand, thousand moments of hope and security and love compressed into a split second of contact before he is stammering, and breathless, and apologetic, rambling about taking advantage and being so utterly adorable that the only thing she can think to do is to kiss him again.

She is demanding in her kiss, and in this he is glad to hand control to her. Her hands clutch his head to hers, one tugging on his hair whilst the other cradles his jaw, pulling their bodies flush against one another. The lab is hardly the place, but they don't care as they lose themselves in their moment, though Natasha does spare a moment to flash a rude gesture to one of the cameras hidden in the room.

When at last they part, breathing ragged and faces flushed (from happiness, she thinks vaguely, wonderously), she takes his hand and pulls him to her (no, their room now) room, a smile lighting both their features.


	13. Loneliness

She may be perceived as a little OOC, but that's what exhaustion does to you, I guess, so I'm taking artistic liberties :) Enjoy!

* * *

She'd always thought herself well above such a base emotion as loneliness. As it was, it took her months to realise that the uneasy, greasy feeling coiling in her gut wasn't, as she'd initially supposed, weariness from the mission in New Zealand, or the subsequent missions stretching her abilities tight across the world.

No, it hit her as she lay shivering on her bed, silent sobs wracking her body as she woke from a particularly violent nightmare and reached, unthinkingly, blindly, for the body that was no longer there.

As her hands grasped the roughspun woollen sheets instead of soft, worn cotton, and her eyes fell on cold wall instead of a warm, smiling, concerned face, the realisation that she was alone, truly alone, smacked her in the chest; she was left reeling, gasping desperately for air as more sobs threatened to choke her, as the cold of the Serbian winter froze the half-fallen tears to her cheeks and her heart, so carefully hidden and protected, seemed ready to shatter against her chest.

The next morning, as she regarded herself dispassionately in the cracked mirror standing sentinel over an equally cracked sink, in a dismal bathroom with cracks gracing every surface, even herself, it seemed. The cracks in the mirror's surface split her face into discordant shards, and she couldn't help but marvel at the irony.

After that morning, the heaviness settled within her, wearing her down slowly and surely, making her more ruthless, more cunning, more desperate for something to make her feel again. She took more risks and more lives, remorse as foreign a concept to her as humility was to Tony. She lost count of the scars she gained spent fighting the loneliness that ate away at her, until finally, finally, the exhaustion won and the team refused to let her leave, even if she had wanted to.

She hadn't wanted to.

She's lying in her bed in Headquarters, curled as small as she can to conserve heat as the shivers race through her small frame, juddering the bed frame in their severity. She doesn't know when she last ate, she just wants to _sleep_ but her traitorous mind won't let her. She hears whispers outside the door, footsteps and curses and what she thinks is a fist slamming into the wall. The shivers stop.

The door pushes open and three people step inside. Steve, she guesses, and Rhodey, and…

"Bruce?"

Her voice sounds dead even to her own ears, dry and cracking. She pushes herself up, back still to them, trying to still her suddenly rapidly beating heart. _It must be,_ she thinks.

"Nat, I…"

She can picture him, clear as day, hands held out, palms up so he's not a threat, a grey cardigan slouched across his shoulders. Grey slacks and a white shirt, maybe, comfy but practical.

"You left… Why?"

The others leave them to it, and they talk. For hours he sits on her bed and strokes her hair as he tells her of the amazing things he saw and did, the people he helped and how every moment of every day his thoughts were tinged with sadness for missing her, and regret for leaving the way he did.

At last, they fall silent as the shadows through her window lengthen and turn inky. He curls on his side with her curled into his arms and kisses the top of her head.

"I missed you," she whispers as she finally relaxes into sleep.

"I know."


End file.
